


jumpers & junkies

by sunkissed_trampoline



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Drugs, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, jesus christ what am i doing, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 14:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5251001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkissed_trampoline/pseuds/sunkissed_trampoline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John goes away for an army reunion, Sherlock becomes tedious without his blogger - and discovers John isn't as blind as he thought he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	jumpers & junkies

I am waiting longingly at departures when I see him. He is dressed ever so casually in his soft navy jeans and the donkey jacket I am so fond of, dragging his cheap suitcase behind him as he strides confidently down the narrow corridor. So many other passengers surround him on their way to meet their loved ones, but my eyes are for him and only him, taking in every detail that I have missed so desperately. He has only been two weeks and yet it has felt like a lifetime.

I can see him scanning the crowd of awaiting friends and family, and when his familiar eyes lock onto mine his face reveals the same comforting expression that I adore so much. He breaks into a slight jog as the crowd thins out and before I know it his arms have enveloped me and the suitcase has clattered clumsily to the floor.

I realise I have been holding my breath since the moment I spotted him, and in his wonderful embrace I manage a sigh of relief and a whisper of, "John." After a few moments he pulls away from the gesture, his tanned arms draping over my shoulders and suddenly he's kissing me.

The kiss lasts longer than is probably socially acceptable in a public area, but with every gentle brush of lips, my heart is filling with the warmth that had been missing this previous fortnight. But all that worry and ache has disappeared in this glorious moment as I am reminded that my John is worth the induced misery his loss creates. For the split second that his tongue is past my parting of lips, I can taste tea and toast and comfort and everything that makes up John Watson, but I can feel him hesitating against my mouth and I know I have been caught out.

Gently, John pulls away, his eyes heavy with concern as they scan my pale face. "You've been smoking?" he asks softly, his palms framing my jaw perfectly, demonstrating how well we mould.

I look away guiltily, turning my eyes to the floor. "I needed a distraction."

"From what?" he frowns.

I look up and again and stare with an expression of bewilderment at how he can be so oblivious, before I firmly state a confused, "You."

John lets out a heavy sigh, dropping his hands to my shoulders and rubbing affectionately, before placing a delicate kiss upon my cheek. He chuckles softly as he picks up the abandoned suitcase with one hand and slips the other around my unhealthily skinny waist.

"Come on, you daft git," he grins, squeezing me close and leading the way to the exit. It pains me that he doesn't know, but I am adament that he mustn't find out tobacco wasn't the only substance that fueled my body these past two weeks.

*

The first thing John does upon entering the flat is rest his suitcase against the wall and he flops down onto his beloved chair. Eyes closed, he inhales deeply before letting out an almighty sigh.

"Home."

I cross the room slowly, my eyes silently scanning every nook and cranny for traces of my activities. I reach my own chair and clamber on carelessly. John opens an eye sleepily and laughs breathily at my awkward curled position.

"Tea?" he murmurs gently, both eyes now open. I nod silently even though he knows I won't drink it. It's just an extra waste of my valuable time, is drinking, but I want to keep John as occupied as possible.

He nudges off his shoes to reveal soft but worn socks and he shuffles his way into the kitchen. Watching him wait for the kettle to boil, his fingers drumming absent-mindedly on the stained counter with such a contented expression painted on his comforting face, I feel a sudden burst of affection for the small man. John is so frustratingly ordinary and yet the most complex piece in my puzzle of a mind.

Unable to resist my urges any longer, I leap out of my battered chair and bound to the kitchen where I wrap my arms around the back of my beloved John.

"Mine, mine, mine," I whisper breathlessly as I breathe every inch of him in.

John is startled at first - army instinct - but he soon relaxes into my embrace. He turns to face me and we are so close that our foreheads are touching and our noses brush with every movement.

"I missed you," he breathes, planting a first chaste kiss. "A lot."

My lips are trembling because I have missed him too, a lot, so much that I have needed the thrill of that dreaded drug to bring me back to life. I have missed his warmth and his wonderful smile and his beautiful, beautiful heart, and it pains me to still feel nervous in these precious moments. My entire body is throbbing with the force of my heart beat, and I desperately want him to clear me of this blasted anxiety with his pure comfort and warmth, and I love him I love him I love him.

But I say none of this outloud, and instead I take a deep breath and place my lips back onto his.

We stay there for several moments, the gentle push and pull of the kiss relaxing me immensly, reminding me why I fell in love with this man and how he keeps me right.

I can hear footsteps approaching the kitchen door, - Mrs Hudson, no doubt - but I do not react; I simply kiss John a little harder.

"Yoo-hoo!" comes the familiar trill of Mrs H as she pushes her way into the kitchen, laiden with tea and a homemade cake for John. We pull apart breathlessly, and when she looks up to see us, both her and John flush an embarrassing shade of red. With a sigh, I roll my eyes - anyone would think she had caught us in a more compromising position.

"Sorry boys! I didn't mean to interrupt," she apologises softly. "Only bringing up some goodies for John - I can go if you like...?"

I am about to say yes, if you don't mind, when John steps out of my hold and smiles, saying, "Of course not, Mrs H, it's lovely to see you!"

"Delightful," I mutter under my breath, which earns me a stern glare from John.

"Oh, John, we've missed you so much!" Mrs Hudson coos in her motherly fashion. "So, how was your trip?"

As they take a seat in the kitchen, I sigh deeply and turn away to sulk on the couch. I am missing his touch already.

"Aren't you staying, Sherl'?" John calls, the frown visible in his voice.

Wincing in digust at the pet name, I reply, "I'm afraid your tale would bore me to tears."

The kitchen doors slide shut behind me, and I hear a faint, "God, I don't know what I see in him sometimes."

I know (I hope) that John doesn't mean it, but it pains me none the less to have them words touch my ears. The comment has spiralled me even deeper into a mood, and I flop down on the sofa to pity myself. I have hardly slept these past two weeks and yet as I rest my weary head onto a torn cushion, I can immediately feel my body shutting down.

*

I awake to John carelessly flopping himself down on the other end of the couch. I raise my head slightly so I can take in his body language and facial expressions, and it is immediately obvious.

"You're angry with me."

John purses his lips and pauses his heavy breathing to simply reply, "No."

Rolling my eyes, I slide myself up to look at him properly.

"Yes, you are. Your body is stiff with tension and your eyes are furrowed in confusion because you want to consult me on the past fortnight but you don't quite know how to-"

"Alright, alright," he butts in, holding a hand up to silence me. "Whilst you were taking a kip, Mrs Hudson was telling me about your activities, or lack of, these past couple of weeks. Now, you know that-"

I scoff, cutting in to his line of speech. "Oh, John. Really? Are you seriously going to lecture me on my eating and sleeping habits after all this time? Because if so, I-"

"Why didn't you tell me you didn't have a case?"

This silences me. I blink heavily, my eyelids suddenly feeling like lead. The anxiety comes rushing through me once more, and I desperately want to avoid his cold, disappointed stare but it's like my eyes are locked with his.

"Hm?" John prompts, biting the inside of his left cheek.

I swallow hard, before choking out a feeble, "I'm sorry."

This apology causes a slight softening in John's face; he knows how hard these situations are for me, and he's trying, he's trying to stay angry.

"I...I assumed your lack of contact was because...you were busy," John says calmly, his eyes now starting to portray a sense of concern. "Not...not because you were either too wired up to speak or...too depressed to care."

'Oh, John,' I think. He just doesn't get it. I want to laugh at the stupidity of it all. I want to laugh, and I want to cry, and I want to shout, scream at him until he understands that the whole problem is that I care too much.

"No," is all I can choke out.

He blinks heavily, and I can tell he is doing all that he can to try and stay calm with me.

"'No' what?"

"You've got it wrong-"

"Then tell me how it is!" John snaps, his voice now raised.

I swallow heavily, ridden with nerves. I mustn't tell him - how can I? I am certain that he would storm out of the flat and march all the way to Sarah's without a second thought if he knew of the dozen empty packets that lay upstairs in the spare room.

"Okay," he breathes. "Okay. I didn't want to do this, but I'm going to have to come out with it. Before you begin to argue that I'm being unfair, I have enough evidence to sus-"

"You're going to ask me if I've been taking drugs."

Despite it being the one topic I am trying to avoid, it is so blatently obvious that I cannot resist blurting it out.

John simply stares and nods with reluctance.

I sigh labouriously. I do not want to do this; my head is swimming and my heart is pounding at the mere thought of what John will do, what he will say. I cannot let him down, he musn't know, and before I can stop myself I blurt out a choked, "No."

There are a few moments of silence. My eyes are squeezed shut and when I realise, I know that I have given everything away completely. His soft palm cups my cheek with such delicacy, and I flinch despite his touch being as warm and familiar as ever.

"Sherlock," he whispers. "Please, love. Tell me the truth."

I can feel myself shaking beneath his touch, despite the numb sensation that has already racked my bones.

"You can trust me, Sherlock, you know you can. I won't be angry, love. I just need to hear it from you."

He knows, I know that he knows, of course I do, and he is handling it so well that it is only making it harder to say.

Softly, he prompts, "Did you?" I nod, at first hestitantly, but then I cannot control myself anymore and a tear slides down my cheek as I nod and I nod.

"Oh, Sherlock," he breathes, pulling my weakened body close, and my weary head rests upon his shoulder as the tears stain his shirt. I feel so powerless for crying but I cannot seem to stop.

John's fingers curl through my locks as he cradles me like a child. His lips gently brush my left ear, and he plants a chaste kiss before murmuring softly, "Why did you do it, love?"

I feel myself crumble beneath his hold. "You."

The first word takes so much forcing, but then they spill out and I cannot control them.

"It's always you, John. I missed you so much. Lestrade kept ringing me, offering me more and more cases. I went once, but it wasn't enough to distract me from you. I needed something stronger."

John pulls me in tighter, wrapping his strong arms even further around my limp body.

His voice hitches as he replies, "Why didn't you just call? I would have come back in a heartbeat for you if I knew, Sherlock, you know I would."

I lift my head up slowly, untightening the embrace. "How could I interrupt your trip when it meant so much to you? You haven't seen your army comrades in years, John. It was too important for me to ruin."

He lifts his hand and strokes my cheek fondly.

Locking our eyes, he responds, "You are a thousand times more important to me than that silly trip, Sherlock." He shakes his head. "What if something had happened to you?"

My head hangs in shame, and I feel like a child being told off for saying a bad word.

"I'm sorry."

John's hand cups my chin and lifts it so that we are eye to eye again, but this time he is smiling affectionately.

"Hey. It's okay."

He gives me a quick, endearing kiss before ruffling my tussled curls and shuffling up to one end of the couch. I am pulled slightly so that my light body flops onto his, and I burrow my head into his firm chest. John huffs out a laugh, his fingers entwining into my hair once again, and his other hand reaches for the remote

"As payment, I'm going to make you watch Antiques Roadshow with me."

I groan in despair, whining his name, which only results in a mad grin and a "Tough luck".

But I don't mind really. Of course I don't mind.

It's John.


End file.
